Heritage
by meganechan720
Summary: Some kids idolize sports legends or celebrities, while others worship superheroes. The turtles had Hamato Yoshi, but how would Yoshi himself feel about it? Co-written with Amicitia.
1. Chapter 1

_Co-written with the inestimable Amicitia._

* * *

><p>He knows that he is not Hamato Yoshi, for Hamato Yoshi is dead.<p>

On the other hand, who is he _but_ Hamato Yoshi? Having placed the collected memories of that man in this glass sphere, did the Utroms create life anew? Or did they merely prolong life that should have ended long ago?

Sitting on a shelf deep under New York City, he has time to wonder.

* * *

><p>He remembers the pet rat. And yet it takes him some time to connect the memory to the being that has apparently inherited this memory sphere. At first they do not speak, but slowly, bit by bit, the memories become more and more real to the rat, and he begins to piece together the story of the rat, the ooze, and last of all, the turtles.<p>

Ah, the turtles. The strangest part of the tale. The pet rat seeking vengeance on his former master's killer smacks of fate, but the addition of four baby turtles to the story is downright puzzling. Even more than puzzling, it is amusing to him to learn of the near-legendary status he apparently holds among these reptilian teenagers. Gradually he comes to learn of them as individuals seen through the eyes of their father (the knowledge that he is an unwitting grandfather is even more strange):

Leonardo, the leader, a steady boy torn between duty and fun, who chooses duty perhaps more often than he should. He is the strongest in his hero worship.

Raphael, the passionate, who reminds both his father and grandfather a little too much of Mashimi, but who proves again and again that whatever his failings, his loyalty to his family is the stronger force.

Michelangelo, the child, bringer of smiles. The memories of Yoshi are glad that such a happy presence exists in the dark underground where his only remaining family is forced to reside. Such brightness in filth reminds him a little of Tang Shen, a flower nurtured in mud.

Donatello, inventor, a peaceable warrior who seeks to protect his family through technology and defense, a sometimes imperfect melding of ancient ninja ways and modern science.

Though he has never met them, he feels he knows them like his own grandchildren.

* * *

><p>He remembers the Utroms. He remembers Splinter, vaguely. He remembers the Shredder. But he cannot say he exactly remembers this memory sphere being made. He supposes it might have been the time he stepped into the memory chamber to learn the story of the alien race, crash-landed on Earth with no resources but salvaged parts and patience. They never said anything about salvaging his own memories, a sliver of his soul shaved off and placed in a glass container. The thing he can't figure out is how he remembers anything after that. As far as he can tell, he remembers everything up to a few weeks before his death, which means they had been collecting pieces of his soul all along. He is not sure if it is the lack of a body that makes him not care about this invasion of privacy, or simply the knowledge that he is dead and it hardly matters now, but he doesn't. He bears the Utroms no ill will. They were advanced, in culture and intelligence, and haughty in their advancement; but, with one major exception, benevolent. Even the waste from their research helped instead of harmed, and the memories think that the webs of fate binding himself, his adopted family, and the Utroms together are tightly woven indeed.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Michelangelo is the first to reach out to him.

Quite by accident, of course. A ninja should really not be that clumsy, but Michelangelo's mind was always far above the sewers he lived in, and this meant his body was often left unattended to muddle its way through life. In this case, it was making a mess of chores, which included cleaning Splinter's room. Since juggling was far more entertaining than dusting, that was what Michelangelo was doing. The sphere was clearly right for the job, so it got caught up in the ten-object circle until the turtle lost concentration and began dropping things. Picture frame, teacup, spoon, apple - all lost to the floor, but the sphere is clearly important, so the young one fumbles and catches it on his fingertips and _strains_ with all his might to keep it from falling - and this straining catches the memories' attention and they answer.

And Michelangelo nearly drops the sphere anyway in surprise.

"Master Yoshi?"

The memories hesitate, and then answer: "Hai."

The turtle stares at the orb in his hands for a long moment, and then breathes out in awed tones: "Cool!"

* * *

><p>Michelangelo tells the story, complete with spooky sound effects, effusive hand gestures, and a great deal of editorializing.<p>

Raph listens, solemn but skeptical, and when Mike is finally done he shakes his head and leaves. He doesn't believe Yoshi's memories are present in the orb, but without any apparent thought as to the inherent contradiction, he resumes his practice of the arts passed down to him from the old master.

Thus, some hours later, following vigorous practice of a more active and interesting sort, Raphael is sitting in meditation. He is minding his own business, dutifully working at this skill he has little love or talent for, when someone calls his name.

"_Raphael._"

Someone who sounds a lot like one of those cliché Voices-From-The-Other-Side.

Determined not to be distracted from this practice now that he's made himself sit down and begin it, Raph ignores _someone_ and continues his meditation.

The voice comes again. "_Raphael._"

"Knock it off, Mikey," Raph says out the side of his mouth.

And again, more insistently: "_Rapha-ellll_."

"Mikey -!" He snaps one eye open and rakes his gaze around the Lair. He sees no signs of prank-pulling, supernatural-occurrence-obsessed little brothers, but in a family of ninjas, that doesn't mean much. He slams his lid shut again and resumes his focus.

But only for a moment before: "_Raphael, my grandson._"

Raph leaps to his feet, glaring around with both eyes now. Still no flash of orange bandana, but as his gaze skips over the open door of Splinter's room, he can't help noticing that Yoshi's orb seems to be glowing.

"Mikey, if that's you with a flashlight -"

No telltale giggle answers him.

He finds another place to meditate.

* * *

><p>Donatello approaches the orb like a science project.<p>

To be fair, he approaches it like a _very respected_ science project. He handles it with a great deal of care, as well as a certain degree of what can only be described as deference.

"I don't understand how you're able to communicate with it," Don says to Mike, as he pores over a page of numbers at the kitchen table. Mike understands that all these numbers were in some way derived from the orb, and he's smart enough to know that numbers can tell you stuff about things, but he doesn't really see how even the most complicated formula could begin to describe a living person.

Or a person who _used_ to be living.

"Him."

"Hm?"

"No, _him_. The orb isn't an 'it', Donnie."

Don looks up from his pencil-scratching. "Okay, my very insightful brother. How do you communicate with _him?_"

Mike takes the pencil away from Don, and stuffs it back in the Catchall Cup. "It's called talking. Let's practice now."

Don looks unimpressed. "But how do you talk to someone who's an _orb?_"

"Like this." Mike reaches over, seizes Don's head, and begins opening and closing his jaw in time to his own words. "Hi, I'm Donatello. I'm a big nerd who can solve hard math problems but doesn't know how to talk to people. Now tell me something about yourself, Mr. Orb Sir."

Don pushes Mike off, seizes his pencil back, and glares at his equations.

"Well, okay," Mike says, leaning back in his chair. "Don't say I never tried to save you hours of boring work."

Don doesn't seem to be listening.

* * *

><p>Leo spends some days considering Michelangelo's tale, weighing the potential rewards if it's true against the certain disappointment and embarrassment if it's a joke. In the end, his desire to understand his roots, and his need for a hero, conquer his fear of failure and humiliation.<p>

For the following days, he sits in front of the orb, every line of his face and body showing his determination. With all the power of his mind and spirit and will, he attempts to make contact.

After sensing the boy struggle for some time, the memories take pity on him and reach out. The spirits of man and turtle materialize on a high mountain top, exactly the austere setting Leonardo imagines Yoshi to belong in, and the turtle speaks first.

"M-Master Yoshi. It's an honor to finally meet you." He bows low, and Yoshi hides his amusement by bowing back.

"Greetings, Leonardo. I have heard much about you from your Master Splinter. It is good to meet you in person at last. Ah, as it were," he says wryly, gesturing vaguely at their astral surroundings. Leonardo only nods eagerly.

"There's so much I've wanted to ask you, Master Yoshi. I'm sure you have much wisdom you could impart. Please, tell me," and the memories brace themselves for a barrage of trivial questions, "are you happy here, like this?"

For some reason this surprises the memories, and they think that perhaps second-hand accounts are as limited as they remember them being. Yoshi smiles and invites the young man to sit down as he begins to attempt to answer his question.


	3. Chapter 3

Leo returns to the kitchen looking like he just found all the answers, only to realize he didn't understand the question. Wordlessly, with that nameless power that was both cause and effect of being chosen as leader, he calls his brothers to him.

They go together, silently, into Splinter's room. The orb rests on the low table, looking like an ordinary glass ornament, and they seat themselves around it.

Don raises a questioning brow; Raph's mouth quirks down into an irritated scowl. Leo fixes his eyes upon the orb and Mike sees where this is going.

They meditate, as one spirit.

Yoshi greets them each warmly, by name, seeing their uniqueness even in their solidarity. He invites them into his memories, sharing them as the Utroms had shared their history with him.

Splinter finds them that way, and waits. In time they return to him, opening eyes that have seen other worlds.

* * *

><p>The orb does not speak again after that. Perhaps it has spent itself, pouring the entirety of its essence into new vessels, transferring careful copies to less fragile hosts.<p>

They rarely speak _of_ the orb, either. Each has seen all that it contained, equally, and there is nothing more about it that they can share.

Splinter can see its effects, though, on each of his sons:

Leonardo, who now carries the weight of leadership with easier balance. He has the same gravity, but returns to it more effortlessly, becoming in turn more able to escape from it when the situation demands lightheartedness.

Raphael, still intense in his propensity to disagree, but with a greater degree of respect for other's strengths, and a new sense of tolerance for their weaknesses.

Michelangelo, still cheerful, but less frenetic about it. He is maturing as a teller of stories and caretaker of spirits, and Splinter worries less that he will lose these qualities as he grows.

And lastly, Donatello, his ability to turn trash into dreams undiminished, but now balanced with the ability to, sometimes, awake from the fever of creation and share less tangible dreams with his family.

In life, Yoshi gave much to all around him, and even in death he has passed on a precious gift to his four unlooked-for grandsons. Splinter keeps the now-silent orb on the family's altar, pays his respects to it daily, and then goes out to attend to his work.


End file.
